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Riptide
'''Riptide' is a short story set in the Region of Water, documenting the first four months of Kivoda's time as the Protector of Water. It takes place within the Second Generation storyline. Story Five years ago Kulta the Skull Grinder, tribal leader of the Skull Raiders, gazed out from his vantage point atop the cliff face, where the Great Temple of the Water Region had once stood. Now it was nothing more than a beautiful ruin shimmering beneath the surface - a tourist attraction for those who wanted to gawk at the sad remains of Okoto's former glory. At his feet, impaled upon his Hook Blade, squirmed the mortally wounded Protector of Water. “A mockery,” he murmured, his gaze still resting upon the sunken ruins of the magnificent structure. “I remember a time when the Great Temple stood tall, embellished with gold and rising up proud above this desolate, flooded region. How low your kind must have fallen to let such a monument sink.” The battle had been short-lived, though it had taken longer than Kulta cared to admit. His adversary had proven formidable for a lone combatant, though he was of a weaker chaste and the outcome had proven inevitable. He was simply the first of many so-called Protectors to feel the Skull Grinder’s century-old wrath. “The others... they will stop you...” wheezed the Chief of the Water Region through labored breaths. “I hardly think that likely, little one,” he purred. “Your people were not born for greatness nor do you possess the strength to seize it. Today, the water shall run red with your blood, Protector.” The Protector spluttered and shook his head. “What rock… have you been living under?” Kulta rolled his eyes and jerked the Hook Blade, prompting a fresh volley of screams. It was true enough - his kind had been imprisoned in the ancient catacombs beneath the Stone Region almost three centuries before. It had taken several lifetimes to dig their civilization free from their collective tomb, all because of the cursed Ekimu and the ancestors of this very Protector. Now freedom was finally his. It had taken decades of tunneling and untold hardship for his people, but Kulta’s most loyal lieutenant, the ferocious Skull Basher, had eventually found him a means of escape: a flooded tunnel emerging in the Water Region. Together, the pair had clawed their way to the surface and basked in the glow of the gray sky above. Together they would exact their revenge on the Okotans. But the Grand Plan was a complex scheme with many moving components, requiring much in the way of preparation. Indeed it would take time to amass the Elemental Crystals they needed to animate their Skull Army through Skull Raider necromancy, and then there was the matter of reclaiming the Mask Stealer Staff and the Golden Mask of Skull Spiders from their respective resting places in the Earth and Fire Regions, not to mention the race for the Mask of Creation itself. Time was not on their side. Years of planning, hampered by the Protector of Water taking a mid-morning swim. Sensing movement in the corner of his eye, Kulta glanced down at his captive, catching a flash of blue tumbling over the edge of the cliff. The Protector lay bare-faced, glaring at him definitely. A moment too late he realized what had happened. “Your Elemental Mask... your Turbines, you have cast them to the sea like common pebbles?” “To be reclaimed... by my son,” snarled the Protector with the noble resistance of a fish out of water. “So that he may carry on… in my place.” Kulta’s smile broadened as he reached down and placed a bony hand around the villager’s throat. Heaving the battered Protector up off the Hook Blade, he hoisted his maskless adversary up into the air. “Or so he can die on the end of my spear too,” chuckled the Skull Grinder. “It matters not.” The Protector struggled, kicking his feet feebly, as though he were a youngling once more learning to paddle. “You will pay dearly for that transgression, Islander,” he purred. “But fear not, I have a special destiny in mind for you…” With those final words, the Skull Grinder began to tighten his grip around the doomed Protector’s throat. There could be no witnesses. ---- Four months later “You see what I mean?” Kivoda, Protector of Water, stood rooted to the wooden pier, his eyes remarking the damage to the base of the sailboat, Elemental Torpedo Blaster strapped to his back. While extensive, the rupture in the hull wasn’t unlike a thousand others he had seen before. “Do you see it? Hey, do I even have your attention?” The tourist in question, a wealthy trader from the Stone Region named Ahkmou, waved his hand far too close to Kivoda’s face. The Protector shot him back a glare. “Yes, I see it. Kinda hard to miss.” At first glance, it appeared as though the boat had hit rocks in shallow water, for the abrasions ran all too consistently across the full length of the hull. But closer inspection revealed other factors at play. The vessel was punctured all over, as though it had entered a field of unreasonably sharp debris, the likes of which weren't present in this lagoon. The striations were too pronounced to indicate that the boat had simply drifted into the shallows. It had been torn asunder. But the most compelling evidence was the damage to the motor. Great clawmarks adorned the bow, slashing straight through the polished redwood panels hewn from deep within the Jungle Region. Curved, precise, and regular, these were scratches spanning the exact width of a handprint. This was sabotage. “Run it by me again, what was your purpose here?” Ahkmou sighed, as though the report was more of an inconvenience to him than his broken sailboat. “Vacation. I come here every year - usually for fishing or diving. Met your predecessor once or twice in fact.” “No, I mean here specifically.” The trader’s expression tightened, his patience thin to begin with. “This seemed like a nice spot - quiet lagoon, clear water. I was here the day before. Figured I’d come back only to find myself under siege when I weighed anchor in the middle of the night.” Kivoda groaned internally. He could already tell this wasn’t going to end well. “You are aware that these waters infringe upon the Owaki Island Coral Park, right?” “A wildlife conservation, what of it?” “Fishing and diving in this area is strictly prohibited. There are dozens of maritime laws in place to keep sailors and divers out of this lagoon.” Ahkmou chuckled insincerely and gestured to the clawmarks. “My ship gets torn apart by that thing and it’s my fault?” “The law is the law.” The trader huffed impatiently and rolled his head, as though looking around a crowded marketplace for an audience. ‘''Get a load of this guy''’ written all over his features. “Okay, sure,” he said condescendingly. “But you’re forgetting the diplomatic immunity. I’m a foreign national.” ‘Then what do you need me for?’ said Kivoda internally. “Run me through the incident you mentioned in the report,” he muttered instead. “You actually got a look at the thief?” Ahkmou nodded, as though the action were a tremendous inconvenience to him. “I wrote all of this down for one of the guards already: skull-mask, glowing armor, red eyes...” “What do you mean by ‘glowing’? Bioluminescent?” “He was one of you Elementally-enhanced types. Light blue I guess, but it was eerie.” “Did he have anything in his hands? A weapon or any other distinguishing features you want to inform me of?” “Is the skull-mask not enough for you?” Kivoda hated people at times. He never understood why they so often chose to be difficult. “I can do my best to catch the guy,” he signed. “But this isn’t much to go on and I can’t guarantee an investigation will resolve anything.” Ahkmou shook his head. “I don’t care about that. I just need compensation for my losses, and the insurance won’t cover unless I file a report and get your approval.” The Protector of Water paused. “You’re kidding right?” “I just need you to write off that the boat was damaged in extraordinary circumstances - forces of nature beyond my control and all that. Then I can claim compensation for the possessions I lost. You’ve already admitted it, I just need it in writing.” Thinking in terms familiar to the trader, Kivoda knew that the conversation was going to take an unpleasant turn the second he denied the request, which he would inevitably have to do. Once he did that, however, the diplomat would stop being so diplomatic. “And exactly what was lost?” Ahkmou pulled a sour expression and broke eye contact. He thought it over for a moment then answered. “A statue of Toa Pohatu carved from an Elemental Crystal - a treasured family heirloom.” “I’ll bet that’s only half-right.” “Excuse me?” “An Elemental Crystal, maybe, but not carved like Pohatu and a heirloom only in the sense that it had been in your family's possession for a couple of hours.” Ahkmou’s features darkened. “What, it’s pure coincidence that your boat breaks down while illegally docked in the Owaki Island Coral Reserve?” chuckled Kivoda. “This area serves as the roaming grounds of the Creature of Water. It’s the only source of Elemental Water Crystals on the entire island. Thousands of divers have made their way to this very cove intent on smuggling out as many sacks as they can fill since the Time of the Mask Makers. Even Makuta himself took the plunge searching for Water Crystals to forge the Mask of Ultimate Power. So, as the Protector of this Region, I am acutely aware of illegal diving operations in these waters.” Despite being rumbled, the trader appeared unfazed. Legal repercussions rarely seemed to befall him. Not this time. Ahkmou showed a trace of emotion, a thin shark’s smile that never reached his eyes. “That’s purely assumption, Protector.” “It’s your word against mine.” “Come now, be reasonable,” continued the villager wryly, haggling his way out of the accusation. “Think carefully to whom you speak. Three words from me and my associates start importing through the Region of Ice instead. You lose a good 40% of your trade. Do the smart thing. Don’t make an enemy of me.” Empty threats coming from a figure wholly unqualified to make them. “Cool, then you can explain to your business partners how you cut off trade deals because the Protector of Water wouldn’t settle a traveler’s insurance dispute for you.” Momentarily losing his composition, Ahkmou scratched his chin and gazed out at the lagoon. “You know, I came here a few years ago. Hit some rocks that weren’t marked on my map. Your father had a team of craftsmen repairing my boat with a snap of his fingers. Managed to get me a better engine for my troubles. Told me to enjoy the rest of my vacation. He knew how to handle problems. Moreover, he would never had spoken to a foreign diplomat like this.” Now it was Kivoda’s turn to smile. He wondered how many times his father had bent at the insistence of difficult tourists like this. At least once by the sound of things. “He wasn’t perfect.” “And you are?” “I’m a step in the right direction.” Ahkmou snorted. “And how proud he must be with his legacy in your hands.” “So they keep telling me.” “You will live to regret this, young Kivoda.” The Protector gazed back at him, tempted to meet the blind challenge. He knew he shouldn’t - he already had the argumentative highground after all, along with all the authority needed to have the tourist fined. But the trader had brought his late father into things. Knowing better, Kivoda smiled and opened his mouth... ---- Another complaint. No doubt another grievance with his conduct that would make its way to the Council of Protectors. Narmoto especially would not be pleased. Kivoda continued his descent through the water, half-propelled by the current. Swimming past a nearby village biome, he saw a gaggle of children wave at him from their schoolyard, marveling at their new Protector. For the briefest of moments he allowed himself to bask in their affection and smile to himself. But with their adoring gazes also came the prying eyes of their elders, for the first time in many decades disturbed by the noise of his Turbines and the teenager who wielded them. Delving out past the lights of the settlement, Kivoda continued to swim at an eastern bearing, the irritable tradesman already forgotten. The description wasn’t much to go on, but it was colorful enough to yield a reasonable suspect pool. Only descendants in the bloodline of Protectors or bearers of Elementally-charged masks bore such an appearance. If he were to take the ‘eeriness’ of the assailant’s elemental glow into serious consideration then he could be dealing with one of his own kinsmen in the Protector bloodline. But what was most valuable was the fact that Ahkmou’s testimony coincided with a handful of other thieves involved in similar thefts over the past month. Always the same story: a shadowy assailant armed with a trident and distinguished by his skull-features and elemental armor. Collecting Elemental Water Crystals. Delving further and further away from the continental shelf of his homeland, he now gradually began to leave civilization behind. The dwellings and shimmering structures of distant settlements grew fewer in number. The topographical markers also became scarcer. Swimming onwards, Kivoda began to notice the ocean floor disappear beneath him, shrinking further and further down. Soon even the legendary coral reefs of the Water Region had begun to disappear until finally he was left with the empty edge of the sea shelf. Nothing but open ocean from here on out. The Protector hovered over the precipice for a long moment, treading water. There was nothing but the darkness of the deep - that swirling, nebulous void stretching an inconceivable distance. The depths of all oceans were a remote place. Lone predators roamed here, patrolling the great expanse between Okoto and the rest of the world. Out here schools of fish traveled in greater numbers only to be snatched up in the gaping maw of Razorfins. It was another world entirely: one of hunter and prey, panicked frenzy or terminal stillness. Sink or swim. Ensuring that the floodlights on his Torpedo Blaster were functioning, Kivoda readied himself for the plunge. Allowing his feet to stop paddling, gravity began to gradually take hold of him again. He descended. The villager sank, guided by the lip of the sea self behind him, following its vertical face to the bottom. Flakes of silt and dirt and debris whipped past him, caught in the glare of the beam. Only the most daring of divers ventured to these depths, but only the bravest took the plunge to this particular coastal trench. Tensions had been running high in the Region of Water lately, with the resurgence of Skull Spiders and the recent string of attacks on surface vessels. A trial by fire under any circumstances, but the transition had been especially hard for Kivoda. His father's whereabouts remained unknown. The Council of Elders still considered him missing in action while others believed he had simply staged his death. The lack of a body complicated things, but the discovery of his Elemental Mask outside the Great Temple had been as fatal a sign as any. It had taken weeks to recover his Elemental Torpedo Blaster and Turbines. But still, closure escaped him. Eventually, the rocky outcrops came rushing up to meet him, marking the end of his descent. Using his Turbines to steady himself, the young Protector reduced his speed, coming to a gentle stop on the ocean floor, clouds of sharp sand dissipating around his feet. Silence. It was impossible to fathom the sheer volume of ocean above his mask. Impossible to comprehend how many creatures lurked in these depths or where they hid, feeding on the scraps that sank from the surface. Caught in the glimmer of his floodlights, Kivoda slotted the ancient carcass of a Razorfin, completely stripped down to its adamantine skeleton by microbes. With no meat left to feast upon, the remains had been left where larger predators had dropped them, scattered about in a rough approximation of the mighty creature. Even to this day it was one of the hardest substances known to Okotans. Able to pierce metal, the Skull Raiders of the Southern Islands had hunted the species relentlessly for centuries. Which made it the perfect marker with which to orientate himself against. Drifting closer, Kivoda settled down within the open rib cage of the mighty beast, wondering how many wayward fishermen had met their ends in its belly over its long history. In the corner of his right eye, Kivoda saw a glint, a fleeting flash of metal. He settled knees-first into the shale and took a closer look, sifting through the sand to expose his find. It only took a few swipes to uncover his quarry: a titanium wheel approximately two feet in diameter. Tentatively, he began to turn it. Rusted metal started to grind as the ancient mechanism sprung to life. After two full rotations, the lock shuddered and buckled. For a terrifying instant, the Protector feared that the lock had finally disintegrated. Daring to pry the hatch open, he stared into the darkness before slipping himself inside, closing the metal door behind him. Allowing himself to sink alongside the stepladder, Kivoda played his floodlights down the passageway beneath him. After a slow and cautious descent, his armored feet clanked against a metal grid. The weak glow of faded electric lighting discolored the chamber, as though he were swimming in brine. Holstering his Elemental Torpedo Blaster, Kivoda swam towards the airlock at the end of the chamber. Once securely behind the heavy metal door, he pulled the lever his father had shown him only once before. The water was torn from the room with the force of a thousand rushing waterfalls. The young Protector spluttered against the hydraulic vacuum until the smell of stale air finally hit him, robbing him of a grizzly fate as the first Protector of Water to suffocate three hundred feet below sea level. Shaking the remaining moisture from his armor, Kivoda collected himself before opening the door leading out of the airlock. The chamber he found himself in had been undisturbed since his father's last visit months prior. The structure itself had lovingly been nicknamed ‘The Grotto’, a submersible vessel designed by Ekimu centuries ago and sunken off the coast after a system failure. Since the discovery of its resting place, each Protector of Water had used the submarine as an outpost to suit his or her own needs. Making his way down the corridor, Kivoda pressed his hand against a panel etched into the wall and activated his Protector Mask. His hand glimmered with Elemental Energy and the door unlocked, grinding open to reveal the musty command center exactly as it had been left. State of the art radar equipment filled all four walls of the room, with maps and charts and papers strewn on every surface. A distant ancestor of his had placed a number of proximity sensors in areas of interest all over the Region of Water, affording future generations of Protectors an early warning. He supposed it made sense - the headquarters was a submersible after all. The glass behind the vessel’s console was now covered with sand and hidden behind a map of the Water Region larger than Kivoda’s hut. The steady hum of electricity buzzed in the background. There were comprehensive archives within the depths of the vessel, containing the personal histories of each Protector of Water. The ancient tomes detailed the many battles they had fought and the victories they had accomplished. He had read only a handful of them. So many were unfinished or addressed specifically to sons and daughters long-since dead. Kivoda wondered how prematurely his father’s reports had ended. Sinking down heavily into the nearest of the six padded leather seats, the young Protector swung his feet up on a crumpled chart detailing the migration patterns of the indigenous Okotan Gull, a winged bird that had caused havoc during his grandfather’s tenure. The chart probably hadn’t moved in his lifetime. A vault was housed deeper within the bowels of the vessel, containing armor and weapons along with more miscellaneous artifacts of interest. A couple of Ekimu’s ceremonial masks still resided on shelves down there, jumbled amidst tribal totems and armor repair kits. This was it. The glorified janitorial closet of everyone to hold his title before him. It was no temple, rather a cluttered consortium of gadgets he didn’t know how to use and information he didn’t know how to read. Much the same as his command center, Kivoda’s Region was in crisis. These were troubling times. Coastal tempests had become increasingly frequent of late and many of the ancestral breeding grounds of indigenous Sicklefish had relocated further away from the underwater villages, jeopardizing the most enduring business in the island’s long history. An unprecedented heatwave had also ravaged the eastern shore of the island, yellowing the treetops of the Great Jungle and practically boiling the waterways of Kivoda’s home. The fish were staying in the cooler depths and fishermen were returning home with torn nets and empty bellies. Patience was wearing thin. Worse still, it had been several months now since the disappearance of his father. Several months of compromise and adjustment. Several months of awkwardness and failure to live up to the tall shadow of his predecessor. Several months of everyone being tolerant and Kivoda failing to fill the vacuum. Several months of getting names wrong and leaving his armor at home. Casting off a silent prayer for the means to deliver his people, Kivoda let out a deep sigh. He was simply too young to be shackled with such tremendous responsibility. He lacked the split-second impulse that seemed to characterize all Protectors before him. This life wasn’t meant for him. He was too cynical for heroism. Perhaps there was somebody else more deserving of the mantle than him - a distant cousin maybe? Hearing an unfamiliar ping emanating from one of the instruments on the far side of the chamber, Kivoda was rudely awakened from lamenting his fate. Frowning, the young Protector rose to his feet and stepped closer to the console, straightened his back as he began clearing the papers aside, wondering what else could possibly go wrong today. A sonar pulse. Scratching his chin, Kivoda studied the ancient machine, searching for some indication as to what it meant. He could only fathom that this meant one of the sensors had been tripped, an occurrence that had not taken place since his father’s time. Clearing away more maps, Kivoda finally found a curled piece of paper stuck to the side of the console. Straightening it out to read, the Protector of Water suddenly felt the floor disappear beneath his feet. Water Shrine. The sonar pulse continued to bleep, a single red diode fading back into the gloom. The Golden Mask of Water... ---- Skulking in the shallows and shrouded under a camouflage of seaweed, the figure known only as Skull Snatcher planted his foot on the smooth surface of the continental shelf, kicking up centuries of silt with each step, creating a fine mist that obscured the waterways behind him. Startled, a nearby octopus scurried for shelter amidst the reef. He had entered the grounds of the ancient temple, though the shrine itself eluded him. Soon it would be his to conquer in the name of the Skull Raiders. A grim fate awaited the Golden Mask of Water: crushed by his hand then flung into the deepest depths of the ocean. There its broken shards would never be recovered. So long as there was dark Elemental Energy coursing through his body... So long as Makuta willed it to be so... The Golden Mask of Water would never come to rest upon the face of Toa Gali... ---- Kivoda swam. As fast as his legs could kick. Wild, frantic strokes. Desperate, panicked spasms. Rapid ascension. He shot past the lip of the sea trench. It was as if he could feel a prophecy as old as the ocean itself unravelling around him, all the while knowing he was playing into the hand of a mysterious adversary. A few strokes later, the cliff edge had disappeared entirely. Now it was just the wreckage of the ancient coral reef as far as the eye could see. Thrashing about, he willed his Turbines to press him further, but he knew already it was no use. The Water Shrine was too far inland for him to reach, even at maximum speed. This was it. Four months of training and experience culminating in this moment. Gritting his teeth and fighting the current, he forced himself to swim on, navigating his way through the treacherous waters as best he could. The whereabouts of the Water Shrine was a secret so closely-guarded that only Protectors knew of its precise location. There hadn’t been an intrusion in the sacred temple in generations. Many villagers had set off in search of the Elemental Masks over the years, across all six regions. To this date, only Protectors had succeeded, though Kivoda was wise enough to realize this would not always be the case. Civilization was expanding, and with it the gaps in the Okotan map were closing. Soon enough the vast unexplored caverns and desert stretches that contained the island’s ancient secrets would be laid bare. Soon there would come a time for secrecy to end. The scenery blurred. The murky waterscape now repeated itself for miles around. It was almost impossible to tell where he was or how long it had taken him to get there. He could only guess that, in around twenty minutes, he would spot his first traces of civilization. He wasn’t going to make it. An assault on the Mask of Water - an attempt to undermine one of the oldest tenets of Ekimu’s age-old vision. Forces beyond his comprehension were at play. He had been caught off-guard and now, all of a sudden, he felt manic pulsing in his head. It scared him - no, more than that - it infuriated him. He was sick of chasing ghosts. Sick of being kept in the dark. Sick of having to be in so many places at once. Sick of being the Protector of Water. Over the noise of his Turbines, a sudden nearby shriek halted Kivoda mid-paddle, jolting him right out of the downward spiral he had locked himself into. It had been so loud that it still echoed in the water. Kicking his feet forward, he braced himself to stop, reversing the thrust to balance out. Again, he heard the sound: a high-pitched squeal that seemed to come from everywhere at once, as though the waves themselves carried it. Furtively, he turned to gaze at the waterway behind him then stared in disbelief at the shape now advancing upon him. “Now this is more like it...” ---- His journey nearing its end, the object of the Skull Snatcher’s search now gradually came into view. For a long instant, he chose to marvel in the spectacle, floating in both passive reverence and conscious hesitation. Here, mounted upon a stone dais, sat the Golden Mask of Water, waiting to be claimed. Anxiously aware of his surroundings, the Skull Snatcher inched forwards, acting on what little instinct remained in his weathered husk. Kulta’s commands guided him. His limbs moved now because the Skull Grinder willed them to do so. But still he felt the curious lethargy of hesitation. Whatever residual free will lingered of his past self continued to weigh him down like an anchor. For so many years he had championed the protection of this very sunken shrine. To set foot inside, let alone to steal the Golden Mask nestled within, violated everything he had once stood for. On the precipice of indecision, the Skull Snatcher stared into the empty eye-holes of the legendary mask, searching for an answer but finding only the dull void of ancient water. Again, the burning sensation of dark Elemental Energy coursed through his body, robbing him of the choice and forcing his resolve to weaken. He was little more than a puppet now, his limbs moving only insofar as they advanced the sinister plot of the Skull Grinder. Then, as swiftly as his liberty had presented itself, he was robbed of a choice once more. As though his eyes were seated further back in his skull than they ever had been before, he watched as his gnarled hand brushed against the surface of the mask, barely feeling anything at all. Triumph for the Skull Raiders. At long last. But victory was not for the complacent. The instant his fingers plucked the gilded mask from the dais, the thief sensed movement in his peripheral blind spot, followed swiftly by a sensation of searing pain. A sudden impact shook him but still he clung to his treasure. Raising an arm to shield his Bull Skull Mask from the barrage of projectiles, the mask thief turned to look upon his assailant with contempt. The sight that met his gaze in turn, however, was nothing short of a spectacle. The near-mythical Akida, Creature of Water, charging towards him with a scrawny villager in Protector garb mounted upon its back. The pair tore through the waterway, raining Elemental Pellets down upon his position, as though they themselves had just emerged from the pages of a legendary tome. All armor and scales, bristling with righteous determination. “Skull Snatcher!” bellowed the boy in a Protector mask. “Today you fall!” With distance closing rapidly between him and his adversaries, the thief sensed there was no way to avoid the looming conflict. Clipping the Golden Mask to his thigh, he raised his trident and dug into a pouch buried within his cloak, tearing his prize free and presenting it defiantly: An Elemental Crystal. For months he had been anticipating a confrontation from the Creature of Water, looting vessels and raiding smuggler dens so as not to arouse suspicion, coming up with four crystals more valuable than gold. Today he would only need one. Before Kivoda could even register the pulsing azure orb, the Skull Snatcher had embedded it within his chest. Ripples of raw energy reverberated through his systems, crackling like electricity. “I do... not... fall,” he rasped in a voice that tore Kivoda straight out of the water. The Protector’s eyes widened as he sobered to the true identity of his adversary, hidden away beneath his tattered cloak. In that single terrifying instant, the ocean itself seemed to evaporate around him. “Father...?” Wordlessly, the Skull Snatcher’s features darkened, Elemental Energy throbbing from his gnarled fingertips. Anticipating the attack before it struck, Kivoda dug his feet into Akida’s side, trying desperately to steer the Elemental Creature out of the way. But Akida was nothing if not stubborn. As changeable as the raging ocean, the creature bucked and threw the Protector from its back. Who was he to think himself master over the water itself? Or perhaps Akida’s intentions were more virtuous than he could foresee. No sooner had he reclaimed his bearings, Kivoda felt the drag of a localized whirlpool forming around the Elemental Creature, restraining the noble beast in place and battering its ancient armor under the sheer pressure. The creature shrieked. Had Kivoda still been mounted in place then he would surely have been crushed beneath that same force. “The water... shall run red... with your blood!” challenged the figure in the Bull Skull Mask in a voice that was not his own. No training could have prepared Kivoda for such a fateful confrontation. For months he had been driven by a vengeful desire to face his father’s killer - to look the perpetrator in the eye and exact his revenge. But that fire sizzled now, replaced with a slow glimmer of ashen embers. To seek justice for his fallen father meant raising arms against him. Gazing desperately at the Golden Mask of Water strapped to the frail figure’s side, Kivoda searched within himself for strength, finding none. Reluctantly, the Protector relinquished his Elemental Torpedo Blaster and let it sink to the ground. “I can’t fight you,” he murmured. “I just... I can’t. Not while you wear my father’s form.” But the Skull Snatcher showed no such mercy. With a swish of his wrist, a violent current sent the Elemental Blaster tumbling into the coral reef beyond Kivoda’s reach. “Such is the weakness of your kind,” he spat. With those rueful words, the elementally-charged husk of his father lunged forwards, propelling himself through the water. For the sake of self-preservation, Kivoda reeled back only to discover he was not the thief’s target. In one decisive swipe, the Skull Snatcher plunged his trident square into the scaled underbelly of Akida. Wounded, the Creature of Water shrieked in agony, its wordless cries so high-pitched that Kivoda had to cover his audio receptors and watch in sheer horror. Akida thrashed around desperately, eyes wide, failing to ripple the water that hung like iron around it. Raw elemental energy began to seep out of the puncture holes. The Skull Snatcher stood firm, his resolve firmer still, fire in his eyes. The Creature of Water... skewered on his watch. Letting cry a thunderous bellow, Kivoda flung himself at the cloaked figure. Receiving a sharp elbow in the chest, he latched onto the trident and pulled with every ounce of his strength. “You go too far, villain!” he roared, wrestling for a hand on the weapon. The water was now thick with the elemental energy that sustained Akida. It gushed over the pair as they struggled. Wounded, the Creature of Water continued to spasm. With the full weight of his responsibility now bearing down upon him, Kivoda fought for leverage. He pulled desperately, trying to press the shaft of the trident hard against the neck of his opponent, praying that he would relinquish his grip if pressed hard enough. But the Skull Snatcher was too strong. Using the muscles of his father against him, he whirled to face his son, tangling the Protector of Water’s arms. Resisting the urge to utter salty curses that would make Ekimu stir from his terminal slumber, Kivoda tried to recover himself, only for the pointed tip of the trident to come down on him. Feeling his heart in his mouth, the Protector braced himself for the sensation of metal piercing flesh only to find it never came. Opening his eyes, he remarked the trident planted square in the rock beneath him, his foot trapped tight between its prongs. Mercy. The Skull Snatcher regarded him coldly. Gone was the crimson fury that had previously colored his corrupted optics. Now there was hesitation. Then, just as coolly, he relinquished his grip on the trident and turned to gaze upon the reef, the Golden Mask of Water resting in his gnarled fingers. “I do not recall you... boy,” he rasped. “Though your hesitancy will surely become the stuff of legend.” The words stung worse than salt in an open wound. In the moment of their utterance, Kivoda found himself unable to look his father in the eye, even adorned as he was in a Bull Skull Mask. “Perhaps your kind will remember you after all, huddled as they will soon be around the flaming wreckage of your village... Kivoda, the Unworthy Protector.” In that moment, the young Protector felt himself plunge, his darkest insecurity brought to light. He was a child filling the empty mask of his father, struggling to keep afloat in deeper and deeper waters. How could he ever hope to convince Okoto of his right to defend if he couldn’t even convince himself? Enough of this. Cold fury overcame Kivoda’s features. Ignoring the trident that pinned his ankle in place, he wrenched his eyes open again, a furious tempest stirring within him. What felt like raw adrenaline coursed through his veins, pounding like drums in his temples. Baptized in the lifeblood of an Elemental Creature, his Protector Mask of Water began to glimmer. It was now or never. Raising his arms in furious concentration, Kivoda called deep within himself and charged the water around his adversary. Reluctantly, the ocean obeyed him, altering its flow and compacting on its target. Over the space of just a few seconds, the pressure of the water increased a hundredfold. Struggling to compensate, the Skull Snatcher tightened his jaw and tried to repel the water but to no avail. Already the effect of the stolen Elemental Crystal was waning, his composition returning to its original eerie glow. Succumbing to the tremendous force mounting upon him, the thief’s arms slowly lowered to his sides, pinned in place. Balefully, it dawned on Kivoda what now must be done. For the Prophecy of Heroes. For his people. For Okoto. “At least I will be remembered,” he snarled. Balling his hands into fists, the Protector commanded the ocean to obey him, calling forth a current that plucked the Golden Mask of Water from the thief’s thigh. Riding the wave, the mask tumbled towards him, burying itself in the sediment of the reef. The thief thrashed about wildly as his prize settled beyond his reach. Then, with one final push, Kivoda cast the tainted husk of his father backwards. Into the path of Akida... Freed from its restraints and wounded by the attempt to pierce its underbelly, the Creature of Water opened its gaping maw and bit deep into the Skull Snatcher’s torso. Clawing desperately for freedom, the thief cried out, appealing to the Protector for some shred of leniency but finding none. Kivoda watched remorsefully as the full fury of the injured Elemental Creature was unleashed upon his father. He screamed in blind rage as he was dragged away into the depths of the reef in a whirlpool of teeth and flailing limbs. His ankle still stuck between the prongs of the Trident, the Protector sat upright in the sediment of the shrine. Now truly alone, he gazed into the void of the continental shelf, the primal cries of a once-mighty warrior still echoing through the coral. Lowering his head once silence fell, Kivoda could do little else but wonder what cruel fate had seen fit to tear his father from him and warp him so grotesquely... ---- Vizuna, Protector of Jungle, surveyed the lagoon with rueful eyes. Several hours had passed since Kivoda had returned to the surface and sent word out to his fellow Protectors. Izotor, Protector of Ice, had been the first to arrive on the scene, followed shortly after by Vizuna himself. Here, in this secluded fishing village bordering the Region of Ice, they had found Kivoda sitting on the edge of a pier, his legs dangling off the boardwalk and a hopelessly empty expression upon his mask, gazing out into the mist that now hung to the still water. “Ulvado was the best of us,” he murmured, knowing his words brought little comfort to the young Protector of Water huddled at his feet, a sailcloth draped around his back. Izotor nodded in agreement. “I named him godfather to my daughter, Saskii,” he lamented. “There was never a braver soul more dedicated to the Okotan people.” But, try as they might, their words did nothing to lift Kivoda's spirits. A dark gloom seemed to overwhelm his features. “Any news of Akida?” asked the youngest Protector after a long stretch of silence. Izotor cleared his throat. “Diving teams have combed Akida’s usual waters. No luck yet, but it will no doubt take time for her to heal those injuries. She’s probably holed up someplace out of reach.” “Can’t imagine you’ll be seeing much of her until she wants to be found,” added Vizuna. “Elemental Creature sightings are rare enough on the best of days. We can do little else but hope she will return when she is needed.” Shifting under the sailcloth, Kivoda looked up at the pair of Protectors standing before him. “I still don't understand... why him? Why my father's body? How--?” “The power of the Bull Skull Mask,” murmured Izotor with a sad smile. “It carried with it an ancient and dark magic used by the Islanders of old. While the original practitioners died off centuries ago, it seems the wreckage of their civilization still lingers. I've seen carvings in cave walls but never thought I'd live to see one.” “But the real question remains: exactly how did one such relic find its way upon a Protector of Water's face?” murmured Vizuna grimly. “For what purpose was our fallen comrade enthralled? To destroy the Golden Mask of Water?” The Protector of Ice scratched his chin. “I'm not so convinced. Masks as ancient and as evil as that don't wind up on faces because they became dislodged from streams or unearthed by mudslides, they are carried by those who would brand themselves enemies of Okoto. Whoever created that Bull Skull Mask - whoever took Ulvado from us - is still out there.” A grave expression overcame Vizuna's features as the truth dawned on him. “You are right, Izotor. This was an assault - an assault which Skull Snatcher had months to prepare himself for: ransacking fishing vessels for Elemental Crystals only to go after the Mask alone. He had an accomplice who has seen fit not to show his face.” “But for what dark purpose could my father's rest be disturbed if not to destroy the Golden Mask of Water?” bristled Kivoda. The Protector of Water's question hung in the air. Vizuna opened his mouth to answer only to remark Izotor's attention was elsewhere. The Protector of Ice was gazing up at at a shape looming in the distant clouds. Silhouetted against the mist of the quiet lagoon, the silhouette of a single gray Cliff Owl flying in their direction was unmistakable. Letting out the sigh of a Protector twice his age, Izotor raised his arm as the Cliff Owl drew closer, allowing it to perch upon his forearm. The feathered creature spent several moments adjusting itself before lowering its head and tucking its majestic wings in. There was a scroll tied to its leg. Once it had been unfastened, the Cliff Owl uttered a feeble hoot of thanks then took flight once more. Izotor regarded the parchment skeptically, then broke the seal and began reading. All color slowly drained from the Protector's features. After a long moment of silence, Vizuna peered over the scroll while Kivoda waited patiently. “The Vaults of Uganu...” he murmured in gaunt disbelief. He looked around for a reaction, eyes wide. “The Vaults of Who?” repeated Kivoda while Vizuna gazed at the craggy mountains to the North. “When?” “Within the hour,” answered Izotor. Vizuna slackened reluctantly. “We'd never reach it in time.” The Protector of Ice grew pale as he eyed the parchment a second time. “There's no way to know the damage. Not until we get there. Could be a could of dozen, could be a hundred, could be the entire supply.” Kivoda scratched the back of his head, waiting patiently for an explanation. When one didn't come he coughed politely. “What's kept in these Vaults of Uganu?” he asked. “Elemental Ice Crystals,” answered Izotor. “Our entire supply. In the Region of Ice we collect the Crystals that Melum produces, gathering them in a sacred shrine for safekeeping as our ancestors have done for generations, hoping to someday unlock their hidden potential.” “Which is all well and good until your vaults are raided,” murmured Vizuna dryly. “I suppose this confirms our suspicions: that this was part of a larger scheme... to draw you away from the Ice Region.” Izotor's eyes widened. “The attempt on the Golden Mask of Water was merely a diversion,” he gasped. “The real target was the Ice Region all along.” “A coordinated attack on two Regions at once, dark necromancy and an attempt to disrupt the Prophecy of Heroes,” observed Vizuna, deep in thought. “This can mean only one thing...” “Makuta?” said Kivoda, wagering a guess. “Skull Raiders,” corrected Izotor with disgust, the parchment crumpling as his hands balled into fists. Gazing blankly at his fellow Protectors, Kivoda developed a sneaking suspicion that this legend had not been told around his campfire growing up. “Come, Kivoda,” said Vizuna, beckoning him away from the pier. “We have much to teach you...” ---- Far removed from the lagoon in which Kivoda found himself, Kulta the Skull Grinder lay in wait for the return of his lieutenant. Ever-dependable, the Skull Basher knew better than to keep him waiting long. Even now, his heavy footsteps could be heard echoing across the chamber as he approached, wicked horns silhouetted in the torchlight. “Skull Basher,” remarked Kulta tentatively. “Did you succeed in your mission?” The purple-armored brute nodded, lowering his arm to reveal a sack filled to the brim with Ice Crystals. They had the likeness of several hundred polished sapphires gleaming with cold energy. “The sentries put up little resistance,” he grunted. “May their broken bodies rot in the same pit as their ancestors.” “Now, now,” mused Kulta. “We owe a great deal to Okotan ingenuity. Their comforts have supported our kind through the ages.” Skull Basher grunted in recognition. He saw things differently, no doubt. Like many other Skull Raiders, he remained eternally bitter towards the Islanders. While Kulta shared these sentiments, he saw much to appreciate in these simple tribesmen. Perhaps someday he might sway his vengeful lieutenant to his way of thinking. “I see you acquired the Mask Stealer Staff from the Earth Region,” noted the Skull Basher, nodding at the ancient weapon in Kulta's gnarled hands. “Is that a third Protector slayed by your hand?” The Skull Grinder shook his head. “The temple was unguarded. Probably fell into ruin centuries ago.” “I see,” murmured the Skull Basher, a hint of disappointment in his tone. “Still, it seems our gamble has paid off. This new crop of Protectors is none the wiser and already all the tools we need to launch our scheme have been gathered right under their noses.” Allowing himself the luxury of a hungry smile, Kulta ran a bony finger along the edge of his newly-acquired Mask Stealer Staff. Indeed, the future held great promise. Since their escape from the catacombs several months ago, the pair of Skull Raiders had been working tirelessly to set their plan in motion; looting a modest supply of Jungle and Stone Crystals under cover of darkness, retrieving the Golden Mask of Skull Spiders from the Region of Fire, even reanimating the fallen Protector of Water to serve their bidding. With enough Elemental Crystals to raise their army of undead soldiers and one final trick at his disposal, Kulta could do little else but grin. “Shall we?” “After you, my liege.” Together, the pair journeyed deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels beneath the City of the Mask Makers, Skull Grinder carrying his torch while his accomplice hefted the supply of Ice Crystals. Before long, the vengeful pair descended into the lowest of the Catacombs, entering a dusty chamber littered with skulls and cobwebs. The air was musty and stale, the result of centuries of neglect and damp. In the center stood a stone dais, upon which rested a dark coffin easily the size of both Skull Raiders combined. “Open it,” instructed Kulta. Gazing reluctantly back at the entrance through which they had entered, the Skull Basher holstered his Hook Axes and cracked his knuckles. At first he hesitated, as though building up the courage to disturb the resting place of their quarry. Inevitably, his gnarled fingers wrapped around the lid of the casket and heaved, prying the ornate wood apart and releasing dust that had been undisturbed for centuries into the chamber. Sprawled within the coffin lay the dormant husk of a six-legged spider, impossibly preserved and glistening in what little light carried from the Skull Grinder's torch. Laying down the Mask Stealer Staff and plucking one of the Elemental Crystals from his lieutenant's sack, Kulta began to recite the incantation he had practiced, derived from old Skull Raider necromancy. In his hands the flames of the torch began to flicker and change in hue, slowly ebbing into a deep purple shade. Clenching his fist tight around the Ice Crystal, the Skull Grinder cracked the casing, feeling the Elemental Energies escaping. It fueled his nefarious purpose. Dark vapor now swirled around him, causing his crimson armor to shimmer and his eyes to glow. Finally, he reached the end of his incantation and discharged the energy, exhaling it into the casket. Within an instant the figure began to tingle and twitch. What had once been thin, spindly limbs now expanded to fill the armor plating that encased them. Three pairs of crimson eyes slowly began to unglue themselves. “Arise, Lord of Skull Spiders,” announced Kulta, retrieving his Mask Stealer Staff. “And know that it is the will of Makuta that you walk among the living once more.” Rising from his tomb and flexing his powerful legs, the Lord of Skull Spiders bristling at the name, his spidery form shaking with anger. “This will not spare him my wrath,” gurgled the creature, its mouth full of sharp fangs. “My vengeance against those colonizers is that of the waves crashing against the shore. All those who dare call themselves Okotans will litter their precious island with their carcasses.” The Skull Grinder smiled inwardly, for he knew this story well. Many thousands of years ago, the Skull Spiders had been the original inhabitants of the island, visited by traders from the North. Having found new land, the travelers began to establish roots, naming their new homeland Okoto as their settlements expanded into sprawling cities. Due to their unsightly appearance and parasitic nature, however, the Skull Spiders had been shunned from this fledgling new society, treated as vermin and hunted relentlessly. And rightly so, for the Skull Spiders had conquered the island's original inhabitants. “Then accept this gift as further testament to our intentions,” declared Kulta, reaching for the dull Mask of Power clipped to his thigh and extending it towards the monstrous figure before him. In the blink of an eye, a spidery limb had snatched it from his hands. “You offer me a trinket,” mused the Lord of Skull Spiders. “What good is this metal to me?” “That is the Golden Mask of Skull Spiders,” mused Kulta. “An ancient Mask of Power crafted by the Great Makuta that will amplify your command of the Skull Spider Horde, ensuring the loyalty of even the most stubborn of your brood.” Wordlessly, the Lord of Skull Spiders pried at the ancient mask with new fascination, his eyes gleaming with hungry desire. “We shall see,” he purred. With those parting words, the dark form of the Lord of Skull Spiders rose from its perch, clambering over the confines of the casket that had held it for centuries, and scuttled across the chamber. There were no words of gratitude, for such a sentiments were beneath his divine vocabulary. Within moments, he had vanished into the darkness, no doubt bound for the surface. Furtively, the two Skull Raiders remained rooted in their spots until they were confident that he was gone. “I ask one final time: was this absolutely necessary?” questioned the Skull Basher uneasily. “The Skull Spiders are a powerful force to release onto Okoto and the Islanders have advanced considerably since the Old Times. Do you really believe such a meager horde will be enough to occupy them for as long as we need them to?” “The Lord of Skull Spiders plays a formidable role in Makuta's scheme,” murmured the Skull Grinder, a dark glimmer in his eyes. “Formidable... if only brief.” Characters *Protectors **Kivoda **Izotor **Vizuna **Ulvado **Uganu - Mentioned *Skull Raiders **Skull Grinder **Skull Basher *Lord of Skull Spiders *Ekimu - Mentioned *Makuta - Mentioned *Elemental Creatures *Akida **Melum - Mentioned *Ahkmou Reviews Trivia *''Riptide'' was largely written during BobTheDoctor27's holiday in the Finnish countryside. Several aspects of Kivoda's struggle to integrate into his new role and deal with problematic villagers also reflect sentiments BobTheDoctor27 experienced whilst working in the service industry. *''Riptide'' was originally intended as an entry to the Okoto Writing Contest, however, the story's completion overshot the deadline by several months. Category:Stories Category:Generation 2